


A Case of Love

by SophieTrancy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieTrancy/pseuds/SophieTrancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is in love. And in his own mind, only tragedy can follow such feeling. But it only took a day for his mind to be changed. Well, nothing good lasts forever. He has a decision to make, and his deepest fear came true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Murder on the Cemetery

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my BFF... Ani, I didn't have plans on finishing this story, so it is yours :)

After 'The Fall', everything went back to normal. Or, at least, as normal as it could possibly get, considering the world had just been shocked with Sherlock's return. John was trying to resist going back to being Sherlock’s assistant, his partner in crime so to speak. He had a life of his own, with the woman who had built him back up. The woman he wanted to marry. Sherlock still couldn’t understand how John could  _possibly_ just move on, but John refused to stop trying. But then again, he  _did_ give in. Eventually.

When John and Sherlock walked into the morgue at Saint Bart’s, the forner Army doctor then knew he had missed a lot, somehow. In those years John had believed in Sherlock's death, he had come to know Molly was one of the few people who knew about the detective's plan all along. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find out things had _changed_ between Molly and Sherlock, incredibly so.

“No!” Molly hid her face in her face, getting distracted from her work when the two men walked in, causing John to stay right where he was. Before he could ask what was wrong, or what she meant, he saw the cocky smile on Sherlock’s face. That wasn't a look John could recall seeing on Sherlock's face, not when it came to Molly.

“14 days, Dr. Hooper" Sherlock's voice, his tone of mockery and shit eating grin bringing John back to the present "I won"

“Won what?” John watched Molly and Sherlock both completed ignore him, as the doctor took a few pounds from her wallet, angrily giving them to Sherlock.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Molly”

At that point, John realize it was better to just stay silent. Sherlock and Molly spoke of things John knew nothing of, things only the two of them could possibly share, with looks and half sentences. Things  _had_ changed, indeed. John watched, hip rested against the clean metal working desk, as Molly gave his friend the tongue, at which all the detective  did was smile, eyes on Molly as she went back to her microscope.

“Oh, no, don’t be a bad loser, Molly”

"Whatever” She shrugged, faking carelessness for the smugness in their exchange, a dismissive hand waving Sherlock off. 

_What on Earth happened between these two?_

Sherlock laughed, his eyes resting, finally, on John. They had a little silent staring contest,  as time seemed to slow down. Sherlock knew John was confused and he also knew John would ask questions as soon as he could, but he gave himself the luxury of not caring, of indulging Molly for a moment. Sherlock had explained to him many times how Molly had ended up involved in 'The Fall', but John had always had the feeling that that wasn’t the whole thing. Oh, he was sure of it now.

What John saw before his very eyes proved Molly and Sherlock were more than just friends. John doubted they had somehow become lovers, that just seemed too unlikely for Sherlock. But their connection was just impossible to deny. And John had the feeling he was being let in on a massive secret, the only witness to...  _this._

“What was that today?” John asked, on their way back to Baker Street, eyes on the side of his friend's face.

“What was what?” Sherlock turned to the doctor, praying John would reconsider shaving that abomination off his face, after a long moment of silence. He had known this would come, though he had hoped it wouldn't. Sherlock knew he couldn’t keep John in the dark for much longer, that he would have to reveal things, John deserved that much. Molly just wasn't something Sherlock could explain.

“You with Molly”

“What do you mean?” It was clear that Sherlock knew what that meant.

"You know what I mean" Sherlock closed his eyes, knowing his friend would never drop the subject until he knew the entire story, the  _real_ story "You two seemed... close"

“She’s my friend, John” Problem was, Sherlock was never going to say it. Not if it depended on him.

“Oh, I know that. I do, I really do. I just can't understand what I saw back there" John pointed back to Saint Bart's with his thumb "You laughing, Molly 'mad' at you. When you said goodbye, you _kissed_ her on the _forehead_. I thought you were... I don't know, allergic to physical contact or something like that”

Sherlock merely stared at John, not knowing what to say to that. It seemed to be happening more and more, being speechless. That wasn't a feeling Sherlock would ever get used to.

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t or anything. I’m just saying I didn’t see it coming, despiste everything" John shrugged, looking out the window, unaware of the detective's eyes on him "I’m happy for you, Sherlock. I’m sure Molly means a lot to you and that’s okay. It's okay to care. I always thought you two would look great together”

Before John could say anything else, they arrived at 221B, Baker Street. Sherlock paid the cabbie, none of the pounds he gave were from the ones Molly had given him moments before, John noticed with a smile. Sherlock Holmes was just like everybody else, at least in this department.

Mrs. Hudson walked in, keeping John busy, much to Sherlock's delight. Sherlock stood before the window, long fingered hands reaching for the violin. For the first time, the melody wasn’t sad or even something John could recognize. It was lively, like a mirror to his soul. John smiled at the thought, glad to see some things were still the same.

The piercing sound of John’ stupid ringtone broke the nice silence Sherlock’s playing had set upon the room. Sherlock stopped, waiting for John to read and process what was clearly a very long text from Lestrade, given how long it took the doctor to speak up. Which, of course, he did, though he hadn’t still understood what he had read.

“Do we have a case?” Sherlock asked, eyeing John from over his shoulder.

“Apparently, we do. Lestrade seems a bit confused, said we should be on our way as soon as possible”

With an excited sigh, handing John his coat, Sherlock dressed his own, aiming for the front door. He told Mrs. Hudson not to wait up for them.

“Where to?” Sherlock asked, stepping out into the cold night air.

“The... Well, the cemetery” Sherlock stopped on his tracks, hand in the air to call them a cab, turning to John.

“There’s been a... _murder_  on the cemetery?"

“Lestrade didn’t explain, but I'm guessing it's something unusual, given the midnight text and hell, we're headed towards the cemetery" John huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Should be interesting, then” Sherlock spoke, flagging down the cab and opening the door for his friend.

“Always is”


	2. Wicked Ride

Sherlock was staring at the headstones in front of him, hands under his chin, lost in thought. Two women, one man. They were all very _new_ , recently made, Sherlock could almost  _smell_ the fresh marble. They were all within ten feet of each other, which didn't help him get a better view of the case.  _Out of their resting places, out of order._ Sherlock stared at them for what felt like ages, John, Lestrade and everyone else silent as he worked.

If there were a connection, Sherlock knew he could find it. But for some reason, he had all the facts and yet the explanation seemed out of reach. Sherlock told everyone to remain silent, giving him time to go through everything they knew once more, fighting the idea of entering his Mind Palace for  _this._

Sherlock kept repeating Lestrade’s words, in a whisper, to himself, hands fidgeting as he paced, eyes closed near one of the dug up graves.

“3 graves violated, bodies stolen. No cameras, no witness" Sherlock made a face at that. There was  _always_ a witness, someone who knew about the detail that was holding Scotland Yard back "Happened in brought daylight,  no other evidence apart from tire tracks" Sherlock pulled out his phone, using Lestrade's password to enter the police's database. The van had been reported stolen two days before so there was no point chasing this lead.

Sherlock repeated the names he could read off the fresh headstones, over and over in his mind. He had seen ‘em before, or heard of them, he was sure of it. They were so...  _familiar_. Maybe in the newspaper? No, it was more than just reading the announcemets of their deaths. Sherlock didn’t answer when people tried to talk to him, tried to get him to work faster. His mind was running, racing towards an answer that, apparently, just wasn’t there!

Until he found it, of course. In his Mind Palace, in the most unexpected room of all. Her big, brown eyes flahsed behind his closed lids, overwhelming him to the point he was happy to be standing in the middle of the cemetery at one in the morning. His eyes bulged at the realization of what had happened, what was still to happen and what he was going to have to do next.

“I called the station, asking for these people’s files" Lestrade spoke, sounding tired, hands in his pockets "Maybe like that we'll be able to..."

“No need, Inspector” Sherlock said, cutting him off. Lestrade looked up at his long time friend and from what he saw, he could tell Sherlock knew something no one else did, obviously.

“You already figured it out, didn’t you?” Lestrade said, a smile starting to show on his face. 

“I found a clue, yes and I honestly hope I'm wrong" Sherlock missed the confused yet surprised look on Lestrade's face "And you might want to call the station again, Molly will need protection”

“Molly?!” Sherlock rolled his eyes, though he had to admit this case just wasn't that elementery to begin with. It was unlike anything Sherlock had ever seen.

“Molly Hooper, M.D. You see, these people have no connection whatsoever, except the fact Dr. Hooper was the one who did the autopsies" Sherlock spoke, long fingers squeezing his phone tightly inside his pocket "She’s the only main point here, I’m sure. Someone, our… thief… is obsessed with her”

“How can you tell?” John asked, now listening in on Sherlock's explanation.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we found the bodies on the next weeks, they won’t be be of much use to this man” he started his explanation, eyes on the clues he had found not ten minutes before “It’s obviously a man because he was strong enough to dig up and carry the caskets alone, since there's only one set of prints, though they were all smeared at this point "He is a perfectionist, he managed not to leave any tracks behind, not even a usable footprint!” Sherlock inhaled, breathing deeply before continuing “He studied the cemetery's quieter hours, the security shifts, and since these three people have no connection, and I’m _certain_ they don't, Molly’s the only explanation”

“Then, we should go check on her, right?” John suggested, worried about their friend. Sherlock nodded, he knew there was nothing else he could do there "I mean, you said it yourself, she needs protection"

“He won’t do anything” Sherlock assured them, wiping his hands clean "Not tonight, at least"

“Why wouldn’t he?” Lestrade and John spoke at the same time, eyeing each other before turning back to the Detective.

“He could have already gone after her if he was in a rush, if that were his plan. He has been patient enough to steal these bodies” Sherlock gestured back to the headstones “It means he knows Molly and what she does for a living. Think, John, think! This man stole from these graves to study Molly’s way of work”

“Oh, that is just... disgusting” John made a face, turning his back to the graves, unable to stop his mind from coming up with all skrts of ideas for what said man could be be doing.

“But possible, nevertheless. Though I’m not saying we shouldn’t go talk to her" Sherlock sighed, gesturing towards the exit "She has to know, maybe she can give us the files, already with the authopsies. Check the dates on the stones, these people died very close to each other, not long ago"

* * *

 

On their way over to Bart’s, John and Sherlock kept analyzing the facts, almost like a game for the doctor's mind, ignoring the weird look the cabbie threw them through the review mirror.

“Think, Watson, if you were obsessed about someone, what would you do first?” Sherlock spoke, head resting back on the seat.

“I’d try to learn as much as I could and I’d try to stay… as close as possible” Sherlock nodded to his friend, eyes closing for a second too long "You think he moved to be closer to her”

“It’s something I would’ve done. When we arrive, I’ll talk to Molly about this theory and ask Lestrade to search the area" Sherlock looked out the window, out into the sleepless London he no longer recognized "Luckily, we’ll be able to catch him before he tries anything else”

The cab went silent for the first time since the Detective and Doctor got in. Sherlock’s mind kept thinking, working and formulating new theories, proving them wrong without even moving a finger, almost as if doing so just for the hell of it. John heard his friend unhappily growl, though lowly, resting his head back once more, willing his mind to stop, though he knew it was useless.

“We’ll keep her safe, Sherlock” John whispered, aware of Sherlock's distaste for the whole situation. The former Army doctor felt the need to say something, though he knew there wasn't a reason good enough for such words. 

The only thing the Consulting Detective did was look at the former army doctor. Sherlock would never admit that he was really concerned about Molly’s safety, he couldn't see the point. If he even said a word, it would make everyone worry twice as much. Besides, John would never let him hear the end of it.

“Oh, no. Don’t you look at me like that. There’s nothing wrong in being worried, Sherlock" John shrugged, his finger pointed  at Sherlock, though not in accusation “You may refuse to admit, but I know you care for Molly just as much, if not more, as you care for me. You asked for her help when you..."

“It’s different, John” 

“Maybe it is. But you trusted her nonetheless" Sherlock couldn't possibly deny that. It seemed so long ago that he had first entered Saint Bart's morgue, to find Dr. Hopper, with her hair just below her ears it was so short, gloves all the way up to her elbows, affirming the man laying on her table had died of a punctured lung faster than Sherlock ever could. It was then, standing there, watching her complete the authopsy with the utmost respect for the patient, with efficient information, that Sherlock knew he could trust her knowledge to be just as vast as his in this department. But  _trusting_ Molly with his life? That was a different story, altogether "I’ve known you two for years and I’m done seeing you stand in front of each other, just close enough to touch and too scared to try”

Sherlock said nothing. There was nothing for him to say, nothing that could ever explian how erratic he became whenever Molly was involved. His quick mind couldn’t come up with something that would possibly shut him up, instead of just fueling his rants.

“You say you’re _married_ to your work, that you've made yourself _unable_ to feel, but I’m sure Molly does a pretty good job messing up with that" John said, a knowing smile on his face certainly amused by the whole deal “Honestly, I never understood what she saw in you. All the times you mistreated the poor girl…”

Sherlock remained silent, eyes closed tight, wondering if John could actually know him this well. And how in the bloody world had that happened. All he said was true. A hurtful truth, but the truth nonetheless. He would rather die than allow any man to bring Molly any harm. Sherlock wished he could say he'd do such a thing for all of his friends, but but there was a limit there. There weren't limits with Molly.

“She remained loyal to you during your ‘death’, only God knows what you two were up to in that time, two years, Sherlock, two years!" John sighed, adjusting his jacket once he was done speaking, almost out of breath "Oh, but she won’t stick around forever. You might lose her, after all. After all these years, even after this bizarre case, you might witness the dawn of the day Molly Hooper gets tired of you"

Sherlock bit his tongue to prevent himself from losing it, feeling in his gut there was just so much he could do. He couldn’t bear the idea of someone reading him so well, John or anyone else. Not when he was so sure he managed to keep it all to himself, locked away in the deepest parts of him. And yet, she always made it past his defenses. The Woman had been a wicked ride, Janine a mere pawn but it was Molly he _craved._ Molly, and Molly alone, was the one who could ever keep him sane.

“I won't allow that day to come"

Sherlock stormed out, leaving John to pay for the ride, entering Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital with heavy steps. At first, John was surprised by his words, ignoring the cold air and the angry cabbie who so desperately wanted to head home. It was safe to say John had never had that big of a smile appear on his face. Ever. 

Sherlock Holmes cares. He should put _that_ on a t-shirt. 


	3. Not Enough Coffee

For some damn reason, Molly had thought that maybe, just maybe, her day was going to be borderline normal. When Lestrade, John and Sherlock walked in, she knew it had been too good to be true, too naïve of her to think such a thing. She most definitely hadn't had enough coffee that morning to handle whatever business the trio was going to give her. It was barely 7 o'clock, for Christ's sake!

“Jeez, are you alright, Molly?” Lestrade asked, exasperated as the three men barged into the morgue, looking like they hadn't slept in weeks. Yup, not enough coffee. _Where is that damn mug?_  When her eyes finally landed on Sherlock, she saw that he, out of all of them, was the one waiting for the answer the most. Molly then knew it was serious, it was a sixth sense she had developed ever since meeting the Detective. 

“Yes, I... I'd say I’m fine" Molly cleared her throat, eyeing John as if he could telepathically tell her what the bloody hell was going on, turning to Lestrade. _Nope, he's the one who needs coffee. Where in the world did I put that stupid old mug?!_  "Is something wrong?”

“You might want to sit down for this, Molly” John said, clearing some space for all four of them to have a good conversation, failing to ignore how Sherlock reorganized the papers the former Army Doctor had carelessly tossed to the side, going towards the back of Molly's office instead of sitting. John looked back to the Inspector and Medical Examiner just across from him, aware of Sherlock now carrying something in his hands.

“What’s going on?" Molly asked, afraid to do so and regret knowing the answer. It was bad, she knew that much. As in _bad_ bad "I mean, what's this all about? Do you guys have a case or something?"

“Yes, Molly, I'm afraid we do" Lestrade spoke, eyebrows doing the thing they always did whenever he found himself searching for the right words to say "There’s been a... a robbery at the nearest cemetery"

“Robbery?" Molly echoed, confused, pursed lips as she looked from Lestrade to John, seeking confirmation on the man's words "I mean, that’s awful... But what does it have anything to do with... me? You wouldn't be here if it didn't, not looking like _that,_ at least"

“It took us a while to come up with an answer for that question, actually" Lestrade cleared his throat before moving on "Sherlock is fairly certain they were yours to authopsy" Were Molly anything less of a proper woman, she'd laugh. She'd laugh for a good five minutes, thank you very much. But she didn't. Instead, all she did was look up to see Sherlock standing beside her, a steamy coffee mug being placed right in front of her. Of course. Leave it to the great Sherlock Holmes to know where her favorite mug was. 

"I'll be 100% certain once I go through your files" Sherlock spoke, the palm of his strong hand warm on her back. Molly smiled at these gestures, though she knew it was Sherlock trying to soften the blow as best as he could. She also knew John and Lestrade were in fact there and were most certainly... lost, at best "Sit, drink, I'll get them"

"Thank you" Sherlock smiled his softest smile, eyes warm and gentle on Molly's scared face. The Medical Examiner felt suddenly cold once Sherlock stepped away, towards her file cabinet, reaching for the mug that had been hers since college "What made you think these were my cases?"

It was like neither John nor Lestrade were there, like Sherlock and Molly were stuck in their own little world of fancy medical words John barely recognized anymore. They were a good team, those two, it was easy to see how Molly complemented Sherlock, in ways John never could. 

“Took me longer than I'd like to admit, but I finally remembered walking in while you were working on those particular cases, the files should be right... here" Sherlock spoke, bringing over to Molly's mile long working desk a large archive case, opening and diving in with practiced ease "You’re the only thing that connects these people, I know it” Sherlock pulled from the case three dark blue files, laying them out in order of occurance, sliding the archive away.

“So, what now? Should I be worried?" Molly turned to Lestrade, knowing she could trust him with her safety just as much as she trusted Sherlock to solve this mystery "Is there anything I can do to stop this?"

“We have every reason to believe that this man has an obsession over _your_ line of work” Sherlock knew only Molly’s mind was fast enough to follow his, but he also knew that this could easily be too much for her. If there was anything Sherlock had truly learned from John was to never overestimate one's emotional strength. Sherlock kept reading through the files, saving behind his blue eyes all the information he'd go through later "There are all sorts of nutjobs out in the world, that's for sure"

“Why?” Molly whispered, hands slicking her long long hair back as she took a deep breath "Why me?"

“You’re good at what you do, Dr. Hooper. Very good, indeed” It was when Sherlock looked at Molly that the Detective knew he was doing a poor job of of reassuring her of her safety.

Sherlock wanted to put an end to their little staring contest, but found himself lost in her hazel eyes. It had become easier, over the years, for Sherlock to find himself wanting nothing more than to name that color, but he felt like Icarus, flying way to close to the sun, for his own good. And Molly's. 

The morgue fell silent, their eyes forging a connection that could keep wars from starting, sharing a look the Inspector hadn't dreamed could ever be there. Lestrade rolled his eyes, turning to the side to find John observing Sherlock and Molly with a smile, like he knew something Lestrade didn’t. Molly snapped out of it not a moment too soon, but Sherlock didn't, almost as if Molly gave him something new to be fascinated by everytime she moved.

“Is this psycho going to steal all my cases?” Molly asked, faking ignorance as she watched John blink his way back to reality and Lestrade's betrayed expression "Is he... going to show up here?"

Sherlock _hated_ not being able to answer any of those questions. Not knowing all the facts had already proven to be the bane of his very existance, but said hatred always reached a new level everytime it involved one of the people he loved.

“We came to the agreement that he won’t make a move these next few days, at the very least. He went through all the trouble of stealing those bodies, he's surely going to take his time” Lestrade spoke once he realized Sherlock wasn't going to, still lost inside his own mind “We are going to put men on guard, at the hospital, just in case"

Molly wasn’t convinced, not one bit, but she had seen Lestrade working before, she just had to force herself to believe in him. John and Lestrade left after giving her a tight hug, all with some sort of apology showing on their faces. Like this happening was somehow their fault. Molly let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, thinking she was alone at this point, but nearly jumping out of her skin when she turned around to find Sherlock to still be there.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Molly” The Medical Examiner was maybe good with blood and bones, but she wasn't good when it came to knowing where she and Sherlock stood. He was... _right there._  Close enough that her cold skin suddenly felt warm again. Too close perhaps, but not when it came to them, she knew that much. They weren't bound by limits as stupid as these “I can promise you that much"

"Tell me the truth, Sherlock, the actual truth" Molly witness Sherlock's jaw tightening and that was never a good sign. Sherlock was a fantastic liar, but not with Molly. She was the only one capable of seeing right through his bullshit, like she had been born to fit right along side him in a world of contrast. In a world of opposites, they were one "How bad is it?"

"I know he's obsessed with your work, your methods, but there is no way for me to know just how far he's obsessed with _you"_ Sherlock closed his eyes for a brief moment before looking down into her eyes "I don't know what he wants from you, I don't know how to find him and that makes him unpredictable. And I _hate_ it"

Sherlock and Molly didn’t really say much else to each other. Plenty of promises had already been made, it felt like their eyes spoke for them, spoke a language of their own, a brand new word for every emotion.

“If you see anything out of the ordinary, don’t hesitate to call me” Sherlock heard himself saying after the blink of an eye, both his hands in fists inside the pockets of his trench cost. He had no idea the fuck he was doing, he just knew it was right "Perhaps John and I could keep you company, instead of heading home just yet” Molly was stunned at the invite, to say the least, standing there like Sherlock had just gone to the bottom of the ocean and grabbed that huge necklace for her “Lestrade can call you in sick tomorrow, if you’d like and I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would love to have you over”

Molly was at a loss for words, which wasn't big news. Never in her lifetime had she thought this could happen, Sherlock offering to have her over. No matter how blurry the lines had gotten between them, this was definitely not one she thought they'd cross. But she said yes anyway. The very idea of being alone made Molly sick to her stomach.

While Molly went to grab her things, Sherlock kept looking around, despite having a very precise map of the place in his Mind Palace. He knew why this guy liked Molly’s work so much, though she had just been unfortunate enough to find herself such a psychotic fan. She was the best forensic pathologist Sherlock had ever known, he couldn't deny that. Molly was organized, she was efficient,  smart, she was dedicated. Sherlock couldn't say half of that for a lot of the people he had had the displeasure of working with.

On the cab ride back to Baker Street, Sherlock was preparing himself for what John was going to say. Mrs. Hudson would be delighted, he knew for sure. But the Army Doctor was... Well, he was John. Bringing Molly to their flat, allowing her to stay for as long as she needed... It meant that he cared, as if it hadn't been obvious already. He wasn’t worried about anything other than her in that moment and John making fun of him was stupidly low on his list of priorities.

“Are you okay?” Molly asked, voice in a whisper only high enough to bring him back to reality, knowing that the Detective's mind kept racing.

“I’m fine, I’m just…” Sherlock took a deep breath, not knowing how to answer a question as simple as that. He wasn't fine, not at all. The woman he loved was being hunted and he had nothing to hunt whoever wanted to hurt her.

“Thinking?” Molly smiled, biting her Lio before turning to look oit the window again. Sherlock smiled, aware she couldn't see him. He felt comfortable with her doe eyes fixed on him these days, but they could pierce through his walls like paper and he doubted he'd ever get used to that. 


	4. Chapter Four

               Sherlock was playing violin. John was fast asleep on his chair. The music was calm and quiet. When his fingers were burning, he put the bow down. His eyes fell on the couch where Molly was.

                It was already half past two and Molly had finally fallen asleep. Sherlock was happy that he was able to help. Watching over her sleep, she seemed pretty uncomfortable, cold even, in the position she was in.

                Making his way over to her, Sherlock took Molly in his arms. Then, John woke up. He thought he was still dreaming. Dreaming of Sherlock, lovingly taking Molly in his arms, watching over her sleep with warm eyes.

                Before John could say anything, Sherlock disappeared in the hallway, with Molly. John yawned. It wasn’t a mirage, or a dream. Molly was no longer on the couch.

                Sherlock came back, he was alone. It didn’t take long before he captured John’s eyes on him. Taking the violin and the bow again, he was sure John could see the smile on his face.

                “Shut up”

                “I haven’t said anything”

                “You’re thinking”

                Sherlock sighed, missing John’ smile.

         

* * *

 

                Sherlock’s mind was traveling. Throughout the night, he searched his mind palace, the interned, everything… losing track of time. It was around 8 A.M. when John woke up, breaking the flat’s perfect silence. Sherlock had a mug of coffee, while John had breakfast.

                “You know what I’m going to ask…”

                “Then don’t” Sherlock cut him, filling his mouth with coffee.

                “… Oh, I have to. Why can’t you just admit that you care for Molly?”

                Sherlock lost it. Then mug almost fell from his hand, as he couldn’t care less about it.

                “What do you want to hear?! Of course I care for Molly, John, I thought that was already clear! But things have changed, she’s not the same, I’m not the same… whatever it is that you think could happen, never will. Not if I can avoid it. I’ve already caused too much damage to her”

                John was blown away. There were things he could’ve told Sherlock in that very second, as the consulting detective calmed himself down. Sherlock knew he would regret it in 5… 4… 3… 2…

                Molly showed up at the end of the room. Her small figure hidden by her baggy clothes. Her hair was up again, bags under her eyes. Sherlock shot John that deadly look, which didn’t ease him when John winked at him, with a suspicious smirk across his face.

                Truth was, John had been right all along. Sherlock did everything he could to keep Molly out of his system. And he would never admit all the times he failed at it. When he fell… things changed. All the times Sherlock had wanted to come back… all the times he called Molly in the middle of the night, just to hear her voice…

                Then, Molly’s voice brought Sherlock back to reality.

                “What?”

                “I asked if it is safe to go to Bart’s”

                “Oh, yes. Yes, it is” Sherlock stood, forgetting about the drops of coffee on the table “Don’t worry, Lestrade’s men are there, just… keep your mobile on… just in case”

                Molly left after thanking both men. John walked her out. As soon as Sherlock walked inside his room, he wasn’t surprised to see that Molly had put everything back to its right place. Sherlock should’ve seen it coming. It was so… Molly.

              

* * *

 

                Molly was at the morgue. Weirdly, the Pathologist could not focus. On her way in, she was able to find Lestrade’s men. Though it didn’t take her much time to do so, it would have to be enough.

                On normal days, Molly would be able to complete five autopsies. Today was not a normal day. She had drunk over twice as more caffeine than usual, as looked at the clock far too much for her own taste.  It was not normal, at all. She was still on the second autopsy of the day.

                Dropping her tools, she checked the time on the small watch on her wrist. Two hours to go. Sighing, Molly poured herself some more coffee, finishing her work, wanting nothing more than to go home.

                35 minutes to go. Molly wrapped it all up as fast as she could. Now, with her winter coat on, scarf and handbag in hand, she locked the morgue’s door, walking out. The cool air hit her face, blowing her hair.

                You can imagine her surprise at seeing Sherlock there. Dressed pretty much as he did every day, Sherlock placed his phone back inside his pocket when he saw her leaving.

                “Thought you might want some company”

                “I’d love some”

                Sherlock and Molly walked side by side, not talking. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing there, but he knew there was no other place in this Earth where he should be.

                “This whole thing, this… case” Molly paused, trying to find the right words. She knew she had Sherlock’s full attention “Is driving me crazy. I could barely concentrate”

                “That’s why I’m here” Molly’s eyebrows arched “I figured you’d be unable to focus or to eat lunch, am I right?’

                “As always, modesty fits you perfectly” Molly saw Sherlock’s lips twist slightly.

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

                “Course you do” Molly giggled, counting to walk with Sherlock. Molly was thankful that he was there, and she knew he knew it.

                “I had my suspicions”

                Silence found them. But it was a comfortable silence, where they could just walk, no words were needed. When Molly realized where she was, she also realized she had turned off when Sherlock arrived. Molly rolled her eyes, turning to find a smiling Sherlock.

                “You took your time”

                “I got a lot in my mind, I suppose”

                “I don’t blame you, Dr. Hooper” There had always been something going on inside her system when Sherlock spoke her last name. Up to this day, she couldn’t explain it.

                Walking through Angelo’s front door, Sherlock was the one to guide Molly to a table. Before sitting, he put his hand out to take her coat. His fingers were light on her shoulders as he helped her out of it.

                Dinner went on just fine, if you consider Sherlock didn’t actually eat. Sherlock swallowed his temper, allowing Molly to talk about her day. He was, in fact, interested, especially when she mentioned her autopsies. Sherlock was having his second coffee by the time Molly was done. The sun had recently started to sink.

                “Mrs. Hudson required your company, Molly” Sherlock said, checking a text message on his phone. Mrs. Hudson couldn’t really text, so her words came through John’s phone.

                “Really? What for?”

                “I have no idea, but it has something to do with cake” Sherlock looked up to find her hazel eyes on her own hands. Sherlock could tell she wasn’t comfortable. Of course, he had never made things easier, but he could sense that he wasn’t the reason for this.

                Sherlock stood and payed. He saw how annoyed that made Molly, but he didn’t say anything. He helped her into her coat once more. They hopped into a cab, making their slow way to Baker Street. Sherlock hadn’t mentioned that Mrs. Hudson hadn’t really _requested_ , but, in the way, he could keep both his eyes on her.

                At Baker Street, John hadn’t realized their arrival until Mrs. Hudson spoke up. She soon took Molly to her kitchen, to serve cake. Molly’s favorite. Sherlock soon felt John’s eyes on his back. The consulting detective didn’t look up.

                “You’re thinking again, John” Sherlock was checking his e-mails on his phone. John rolled his eyes, even though he knew Sherlock couldn’t see him.

                “You can’t blame me”

                “Yes, I can, Watson. I can tell she isn’t comfortable being alone at work. Why couldn’t she be here?”

                “I never said she couldn’t, Sherlock” John didn’t put the newspaper down.

                “You’re still trying to understand what I meant, earlier today”

                “Can’t blame me for that, either”

              

* * *

 

                John had already gone home, Molly was washing the dishes. Sherlock knew Molly would never let Mrs. Hudson do it. Molly sat on the couch, silent.

                Sherlock raised his eyes from his work, knowing better than to leave Molly’s mind unused.

                “Are you okay, Molly?” By the way she jumped, Sherlock had his answer.

                “Yes! I’m fine” Molly knew, when she looked at him, that Sherlock didn’t believed her words.

                “After all these years, Molly, you should know you can’t lie to me”

                “I’m not” her voice descended, proving Sherlock right.

                “Your fingers are playing with your scarf, which is somehow sentimentally important to you, that’s why you didn’t take it off, you’re scare you might forget it here” Molly let her hands fall on top of her thighs, a fact that made Sherlock smile “Your pupils are contract, indicating you’re tired” he continued as he walked closer to her “Mrs. Hudson made your favorite, but still you forced yourself to eat, and, still, you…”

                “I thought you weren’t looking” Molly said in a tone that made Sherlock stop talking, even though he didn’t stop walking.

                “You know I always am”

                Silence found them again, but this time, Sherlock was the reason she was uncomfortable. He wondered how many times he had made her feel this way, and couldn’t see that he was doing it. Sitting, now, beside her, made him find old memories he thought he had forgotten. Little things he thought he had erased. Evidently, he had been wrong.

                Molly looked up to him, even though she felt awful. She felt weird when his skin came in touch with her. When she realized he was doing it on purpose, Molly didn’t really know what to think. Every word she could’ve said escaped her mind in that split second. The one second it took for her eyes to close as his lips found hers.

                When their lips met, the first thing to strike Sherlock’s mind was that he shouldn’t be doing that. But it was way too easier to go on. Well, after years holding back, why not? Why not now, when she needed him, for the first time in all those years?

                And these were things that brought his mind back to full work. Kissing Molly wouldn’t send their problems away. They wouldn’t be a couple and rise into the sunset for this. Sherlock untangled himself from Molly, their lips required some more work.

                “I can’t do this to you, Molly, I’m sorry” both Sherlock and Molly were breathing heavily “I can’t be what you want me to be”

                Molly couldn’t believe her own ears. She knew it had been too good to be true. In the first five seconds, Molly had wanted to run out the door. But she couldn’t bring her feet to move or stop her mouth from speaking her mind.

                “I would never ask you to change. I thought you were able to deduce that too”

                Sherlock didn’t say anything as he watched Molly collect her things. Sherlock felt the need to tell her not to go, but his tongue was tied. When she was at the door, her voiced filled his ears once again.

                “For a genius, you are very oblivious, sometimes”

                Sherlock never cared about what people’s reactions were to his rude attitude. But when Molly walked out, slamming the door shut, Sherlock was blown away. To the point he could barely think.

                He knew he should’ve run after her and apologized, but he couldn’t bring his feet to move. For the first time, Sherlock Holmes didn’t know what to do; So he just stood there, before grabbing his violin and starting to play; That was the saddest song he could think of.

                Molly was alone at the morgue. She still couldn’t believe the things that had been said between herself and Sherlock. She hadn’t been able to sleep that night, as she tossed and turned in bed for all those endless hours.

                Molly would have never fallen in love with Sherlock if he wasn’t this exact way: Rude, independent, selfish, ruthless, obnoxious, demanding…

                But it was Sherlock. _Her_ Sherlock.

                Molly held back the tears all day. She wasn’t going to be weak. She wasn’t going to cry on her working place, where no one could see, like some loner, as if this had been the first time something Sherlock said had hurt her.

                Especially when this guy came in. she was trying to focus on the microscope in front of her, secretly happy that she wasn’t alone anymore. It was another reason not to get emotional.

                “Can I help you?” Molly forced a smile, hoping that all the things she was keeping inside wouldn’t show.

                “Well, Dr. Hooper, I believe you can”

                So, before Molly could actually helped him, this guy, with short, dark hair, with the darkest eyes she had ever seen, smiled at her. It wasn’t a welcoming smile. It was dark and shady. Molly stopped dead at her tracks. Her mind was racing, something she hadn’t experienced before.

                She knew she had to get the hell out of there. Fast.

                “Can I offer you some coffee? I’ll be right back” Molly tried not to stutter. Something about this man made her want to throw up.

                “I’m afraid I can’t let you go, Dr. Hooper” his voice was calm, his muscles were tense. She knew, when he moved, that he was strong, way too strong for her to stand a chance against him. And she _knew_ he meant her harm. The way he spoke her name…

                The guy moved, which almost caused her to panic. His shirt was dark, so were his pants. Nothing about him showed her that he was _normal_. Molly moved with him, but she knew there was no way out, unless she found a way to walk past him.

                His hand, his _large_ hand, reached for something on her table. _A knife._

                “Let’s play, Molly Hooper. You’ll love these games”


	5. Chapter Five

                Sherlock tried very hard to ignore his phone. It was 3 in the morning, after all. Well, time wasn’t really the problem. Sherlock was on his chair, trying desperately to understand the feeling he was getting ever since Molly walked out the door.

                Sherlock searched all over for something that would help him. Truth is, Sherlock never read or heard about anything similar to the claustrophobic sensation on his chest. Sherlock wasn’t able to focus. He kept picturing Molly alone, at this time of the night. It was his fault. All he could do was hope Lestrade’s men were with her.

                About Molly eventually going to the morgue, Sherlock was bound to find out he was right. What he could never imagine were the circumstances Molly would be found in.

                His phone was still playing that stupid song.                                                                                     

                Growing frustrated, Sherlock got up. Not liking the idea of talking to Lestrade, it was the third time the detective was calling him, in the middle of the night, so he picked up.

                “Lestrade…”

                “Come to Bart’s now! Are you hearing?! Now!”

                “Why? What’s wrong?” Sherlock said, throwing his wallet on his back pocket. He didn’t have time, apparently, so he threw his coat over his shirt, no jacket. His phone against his shoulder.

                “It’s Molly” Sherlock already knew that, but he didn’t have time to say it aloud.

           

* * *

 

                Sherlock bursted inside Saint Bart’s morgue right on time. His eyes searched the room for his pathologist. He didn’t find her. He saw a lot of people, and could’ve probably found out what had happened, but his mind was racing too fast. In the end, he found Lestrade.

                “Where is she?” he asked, not stopping.

                “In the same place since we got here, she won’t allow anybody near her”

                Lestrade led Sherlock to the back of the morgue. Sherlock wasn’t ready to see what he saw. The blood. The blood reached him first. His eyes closed for a few seconds, but the image was already imprinted in his brain. Molly was a small _red_ ball on the floor. There were people around, trying to talk to her, but Molly said or did nothing.

                Sherlock walked past those people, slowly kneeling. He was still a few feet from Molly, but the last thing he wanted was to scare her. The events of that night were all forgotten when Molly looked at him.

                For what felt like ages, Molly felt safe. Safe because _he_ was there. She cried all the more when she acknowledged him there. Sherlock smiled, wanting to wipe them away. The room went silent, nothing but the sound of Molly’s cries. Then his voice.

                “You must be cold here, Molly” Sherlock’s voice was incredibly soft and well controlled, though full of despair. Everybody in the morgue remained silent. Nobody had ever seen Sherlock like that “Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere warmer? With me? Only me?”

                Molly simply nodded, not trusting her own voice. When she moved closer to him, it was then that he saw the marks on her perfect skin. He knew the blood was hers, but seeing the cuts was almost too much for him.

            Keeping his anger inside for later, Sherlock involved Molly’s waist with his arms, careful not to hurt her even more. He didn’t care for his clothes or skin, he just hugged her. Her sobs got lost within his chest. When Sherlock stood up, Molly came with him. His arm passed under her legs and then he was able to carry her out of there.

                On their way out, Lestrade involved Molly with a blanket. It wasn’t heavy, for her skin was sensitive. Molly didn’t turn around to look at him, cuddling closer to Sherlock’s strong chest. His arms pulled her closer too.

                “A police car will take you. But we need to interrogate…”

                “I’ll do it”

                “But you’re not a…”

                “I know the questions, Lestrade. Right now, I’m getting Molly away from here”

                It didn’t take long before Sherlock walked inside his flat with Molly Hooper in his arms. She wasn’t asleep, but she wouldn’t speak either.

                “Stay here” Sherlock said, involving her figure even more in the dark blanket, his fingers brushing the hair away from her eyes “I’ll just get the first aid kit”

                Molly nodded, thankful that she would get a few moments to herself. After a couple of seconds, when she located the three, deep cuts in her skin, she realized that to be alone was worse.

                The flat wasn’t silent, for Sherlock was somewhere, trying to find the small white box. But everywhere Molly looked, there was nothing to keep her attention. When Sherlock returned, Molly tried her best to swallow down the lump on her throat. He had asked her to take her shirt off, she knew, but she was caught in a daydream.

                Such request wasn’t easy for Sherlock either. After the past events, the last thing he wanted was to create an embarrassing environment.

                “It’s okay, Molly” Sherlock knelt down in front of Molly, still caressing her soft hair. Sherlock knew the man who had done these things to her had to use force against her, the last thing she wanted was to be touched, he knew. But he couldn’t take back his request “I have to take care of those cuts”

                Molly felt much better when she realized this situation wasn’t making Sherlock feel any different. His hands were quick, but soft. Affectionate, even. He never seemed bothered by her lingerie.

                After five minutes, Molly was all stitched up.

                “Come on, now” Sherlock let out a hand for her to take, and he was more than glad that it didn’t take more than a second for Molly to reach for it “You need some sleep. I think I may find some clothes you can wear”

                In that second, Molly didn’t realize Sherlock was talking of his own clothes.

                “But…” she was already up, unable to fight Sherlock “… what about my interrogation?”

                “We’ll talk in the morning” Sherlock didn’t turn around while answering “I don’t think you would want to talk about that right now”

                Sherlock was right, of course. She was trying to block it from her mind. She kept repeating that she would be better in the morning and then she’d be helpful. But when Sherlock said his good-nights, something he _never_ did, Molly didn’t want him to go.

                So, she reached out for his hand again, making him stop. A shiver ran through Sherlock as he looked back at her. His hand clutched hers tightly, as he turned around once more. She didn’t have to say anything. Sherlock though, that after all that happened, she would want distance.

                For one split second, Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do. Then, he tried to understand what she wanted. His conclusion was that it couldn’t be that bad, after all. So, he took his shoes off, sitting on the mattress. Molly moved to give him space, and they found the perfect position for each other in a second.


	6. Chapter Six

                The next morning, John came rushing in. Sherlock was on the kitchen. For John’ surprise, Sherlock was cooking. And it did smell good.

                “Lestrade told me what happened, I thought you two needed some space” John said, sitting in the kitchen table “How is she?”

                “Before we say anything, I think you should know that she’s in the shower and will be here any second”

                “Point taken” John tried to hide a smile, poorly “Status?”

                “Complete mess. Denial”

                “That’s bad” Sherlock nodded, sitting across from John, pouring themselves cups of coffee “You look awful”

                “I _feel_ awful. I haven’t slept in more than four days”

                “Did Molly get some sleep?” John said, taking a sip of his mug.

                “30 minutes, if not less”

                “Not good either”

                “Tell me about it. We spent the night up together”

                “Is that so?” John stuffed his hands under his chin, curiously staring at Sherlock’s tired face.

                “Here comes your dirty mind” Sherlock rolled his eyes as John’ smile grew wider “She kept having nightmares. She asked me to stay with her, please, put yourself in her shoes”

                “No need to get mad, Sherlock. At least, not at me. You know I care for Molly too”

                “I called because I need you to check her cuts. Once she takes breakfast, I’ll have to interrogate her”

                “Good luck to you” Sherlock gave John the glare, his terrible one. But they both went silent when Molly showed up. Her hair was wet, she looked small and sick in Sherlock’s larger clothes.

                “Can I borrow your phone?” Molly’s voice was low. She stood away from both Sherlock and John “I gotta call my mom, she… must be worried”

                Before John could say anything and ruin the progress Sherlock had made, he took his iPhone from his pocket, holding it out to her once he walked the distance.

                “When you’re done, breakfast is ready” Sherlock said, brushing a little bit of her hair off her face. Her smile was faint. She nodded, taking the phone in her delicate hands.

                “What was that?” John whispered as he witnessed Sherlock standing and watching Molly go back to his room. The sigh Sherlock gave was what told him he had been right all along.

                “Like I said, John…” John’s eyes were locked on Sherlock’s “… a lot has happened, but I always cared for Molly. Since day one”

                “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                “Do you know to know?”

                “Will you tell me the truth, this time?”

                “I have no reason to lie anymore, John” Sherlock shrugged.

                “Then, yeah. I’d like to know”

                “I switched feelings off because of Molly”

                John choked on his coffee at this words, making Sherlock roll his eyes again. How could have John never realized?               

                “But… you’re telling me she means something, that you feel… for her… right?”

                “I always have, John. Molly is my weakness” Sherlock sighed again. His mind was a mess because he had lost control over his heart “since the I day met her, I blocked her out, though I can never stay away”

                “And you’re telling me this works?”

                “It did. For a while. Molly and I became friends”

                “I thought you didn’t have any”

                “That’s clearly not the case, since you’re here”

                “Ouch” John put a hand on his chest, making a pained face.

                “I shared my life with Molly. Without realizing I gave her a room in my mind palace, there was just so much to catalogue about her… and I wanted to know everything….?”

                “She has a room of her own?”

                “Don’t act so surprised, you have one too. But hers is more like… like a tower. And that freaks me out, always has. It’s a mess. Every time I go there, there’s tons of things, silly things I should be able to delete, but I can’t. Not when it comes to her”

                “Why it never worked it her? Why you’re so scared?”

                “Because I couldn’t focus on anything else”

                “How’s that?” John asked, his coffee forgotten.

                “I got distracted, John” Sherlock was finally letting it all out. He just hoped it wouldn’t bring bad consequences “I fell in love with Molly and I realized that I could never be able to make her happy”

                “But she loves you!”

                “Don’t you think I know that?!” Sherlock hissed, reminding John to keep his voice down “John, you don’t know our story, you don’t know half of what happened in the past two years…”

                “Then, tell me”

                “John…”

                “I’m your friend, right?” Sherlock nodded, with a sigh “I want you happy. And it has been there all along, your happiness. And right now, she’s on the phone, talking to your future mother-in-law”

                That made Sherlock laugh. It was a raw sound, it wasn’t filled with joy, it was just a laugh of exhaustion.

                “I can’t handle both, John”

                “Both what?”

                “Being a detective and a… boyfriend”

                “Have you ever tried?” Sherlock remained silent “Then you can’t know for sure”

                “I don’t want to break her heart in the process of figuring out”

                “And what does she want?”

                “How can I know?”

                “Unlike most times, Sherlock, this isn’t about just you” Sherlock inhaled and forgot how to exhale. Those words felt like being punched “Molly is a grown woman, unlike you... _most times_ ”

                “Thanks… friend”

                They went silent right when Molly showed up.

                “Sorry it took so long” Sherlock’s eyes were instantly on Molly.

                “It’s okay. John will take care of you while I pour you some coffee” Sherlock stood, taking a clean mug with him.

                “Black, please. And an aspiring would be great”

                “But… I thought you couldn’t answer an interrogation under drugs” John said, when he saw Sherlock reach for the first aid kit, after Molly’s request.

                “Lestrade isn’t here, John” Sherlock’s voice was soft and calm, amazing John.

                Molly’s interrogation ran smoothly, very quickly. Before they knew it, their day had gone back to normal; or, at least, as normal as it could get. Lestrade wasn’t happy when he found out Molly had taken tranquilizers before being questioned, but, in the end, her answers were conclusive, so he decided to let it slide.  

                Throughout the following day, Lestrade, along with Sherlock, John and the PD, tried to make a list of suspects. Sherlock knew that this time he would have to play by the rules, follow the book. It took them time and effort, but the list was done around 4 P.M.

                Standing in the cold air, the temptation of following their leads was strong. Sherlock was a mess. His mind was a mess. But then, Sherlock thought of Molly. Sherlock thought back to how scared she was, the way her skin felt against his.

                Sherlock knew he couldn’t be reckless. So, he tried to push those images aside as he walked down the street. From the Police’s HQ to Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital. He laughed when he saw what he had done. Sherlock had been so worried about wiping his mind from her, but his own body had already given in to her.

                Sherlock wanted Molly. He did, he truly did. And after all those years, after the past events, it seemed to close to him, this need to have her seemed close to becoming true. Sherlock could love, he knew it. But he also knew it’d be very hard. He would need Molly. He would need Molly to teach him to love her properly.


	7. Chapter Seven

Molly was drinking some coffee while filling some reports. That’s when Sherlock came in. His hair was messier than usual, like he had been running or standing in the wind, his coat flying behind him.

“Hi…”

“Hi”

“So… hm… I was around, and… decided to come here”

“Sherlock…” Molly seemed to know what he had wanted to do as soon as he arrived, and also seemed to have words prepared, just in case. But Sherlock couldn’t let her go on. Not now that he had gathered all the balls he had.

“There’s something I need to do, Molly”

His deep voice made her shiver to the point her voice died. He went straight to the point, as usual. He was still unsure, but he slowly stepped towards her. Apart from Irene Adler, he never had any kind of ‘romantic’ relationship. Not that he had had any type of ‘relationship’ with The Woman, but it had been the closest to him.

But Molly was different. She was pure, she represented everything that was ‘normal’ in his life, and she was good. Molly was the only thing he knew for a fact that would never change. Seeing her here, after the last 24 hours… the night they spent together… it felt good to be the source of her safety, her warmth.

When he finally reached Molly, she was high in exasperation. Molly put the mug down, turning to face the taller man. Sherlock was close, so close she could feel his warmth. Weirdly enough, Molly was not surprised when Sherlock took her head in between his hands, he did it carefully, slowly.

His long fingers brushed the hair from her eyes, throwing it over her shoulders. It felt right for him to be there. It was so new… he just couldn’t get enough of having her skin against his. Sherlock couldn’t help but think that this is how people feel.

And, when she closed her eyes, enjoying the warm, delicate touch, he knew he had to be doing something right. After all these years, it shocked Sherlock to believe that Molly was still willing to give him a chance.

Then, their lips met. In a perfect waltz, their lips and tongues danced together. But, for both of them, it ended too soon. Just like Sherlock, Molly was heavily breathing. Their eyes met, shy smiles on their reddened lips.

“Not the most romantic place…”

Those words made Molly laugh. Well, they were still in the morgue, the minutes passing them by. But not for long. Molly and Sherlock went to his flat. Things were a little odd, but still Molly’s hand was in his the whole way back home, so it had to be a good sign.

Part of Sherlock’s brain was trying to find something to say. The other half was mesmerized by the fact that Molly’s hand was in his, resting on the small, empty space between them. Sherlock, then, realized no words had to be said. Molly rested her head on his shoulder. The feeling was so overwhelming he forgot how to breathe properly.

Time flew by. It was really late, John had cooked them dinner. And that doesn’t always include Sherlock actually eating what had been prepared. The consulting detective was sitting alone on his working table, focused on the ‘Molly case’. The poor pathologist was alone after Sherlock’s mind drifted.

After all the things that had happened that day, Molly still wasn’t sure what to do. Though she was still a little bit unsure, and she was still in a lot of pain to walk noiselessly, her soft hands rested on Sherlock’s shoulders. Unlike what Molly was expecting, he didn’t jump or move away from her touch.

In that very second, Sherlock dropped the pen he was holding, leaving it forgotten along with all the papers and stuff. Her fingers found their way to his curled hair, his eyes fluttering shut. His brain was a train wreck, out of control, bursting with new information.

Soon enough, Molly managed to make Sherlock eat, even if it was just some cheese and bread. While on the dinner table, Sherlock observed Molly. But not on the way he usually would. He tried to put himself on Molly’s attacker’s shoes. Molly noticed the eyes on her, looking up.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Pretend I’m the man who attacked you, okay?” Sherlock didn’t mean to scare Molly. By the look in her eyes, Sherlock made a mental note to work on that. Molly stuttered a bit, nodding instead of speaking.

“Does my fetish for your work remind you of anyone?” Knowing Sherlock, Molly knew better than to ignore his question.

“No…” her voice wasn’t louder than a whisper, so Sherlock lowered his own voice to match her tone.

“Okay, has anybody ever approached you in an unusual way before me?”

“No, not really”

“Has anybody moved in to a house near you recently?”

“A couple moved out two weeks ago, down my street, but the place’s still empty”

Sherlock went silent for a while. He made his way back to his working table, finding the suspects’ files again. Out of all the ones Lestrade and his team had come up with, Sherlock only suspected of three, but none had rented or bought any sort of residence in the past months.

“Something’s not right…”

Sherlock had been told not to show the suspects pictured to Molly, for she could collapse. But the detective knew Molly’s brain held the answer to all his questions, to the puzzle.

“Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“If I showed you some pictures… you think you could identify this man?”

Molly stood silent for a few moments. Sherlock was already regretting his idea, his words when she moved to look at him. The look in her eyes was something Sherlock had never seen. It didn’t fit her, like she had lost her warmth.

“I’ll never forget his face”

Sherlock dwelled on what was best. He looked at Molly, suddenly not sure if she should see the pictured.

“I want to help…” Sherlock sighed, nodding. While Molly made her way to his side, he placed the pictures on the kitchen table. But, before she could look, he held her chin up, so her eyes would be in his.

“Take your time, okay?” It was not necessary. As soon as her eyes fell on Subject #2, the color vanished from Molly’s face. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out. Sherlock hid the pictures, stacking them away from her sight.

Sherlock was then engulfing Molly with his arms. She hid her face in his chest, her hair being caressed by him. It was solved, Molly could finally erase his face from her memory, she had done her part, more than most people ever do.

Sherlock guided her to his room, both under hugged to each other. Sherlock sat her down, Molly remained silent. Sherlock, then, started to pull at her clothes, indicating that he wanted to take them off. At first, it wasn’t anything sexual, Molly knew it. She lifted her arms, and Sherlock pulled the fabric over her shoulders and head.

Sherlock undressed himself, giving Molly a shirt she could use. He thought if it wouldn’t be better if there were some of her clothes there, now. Still, he didn’t give this thought much attention when he noticed Molly hadn’t dressed the shirt. He had given her time, had stood with his back to her. But she hadn’t moved at all. Her eyes were on a bandage in her arm.

Sherlock kneeled, though he had no idea what he was doing. He took her hand. He held it tightly. Molly looked at him. Sherlock looked at her. Words gone. Sherlock’s hand climbed to her face, his fingers in her hair. He pulled her down until their lips met. It was a rushed kiss, clumsy even.

Sherlock opened her legs so he could stay in the middle of them, he was still kneeling, and she was still wearing nothing but her bra and jeans. Sherlock couldn’t care less, so couldn’t Molly. They kissed and they kissed some more. When it grew heated, Sherlock grew tired of kneeling. He grabbed her by the thighs, something that surprised both of them. Sherlock made her slide from the mattress, landing in his arms. Her legs passed around his waist as he stood; her back now on the bed.

Their eyes met for a mere second. It was their conversation as time seemed to slow down.

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

On the next morning, John was on the kitchen when Sherlock showed up. By the look on his friend’s face, the detective already knew what was coming. Sherlock wanted to hire back in the room, but it was too late now.

           “Don’t even start” Sherlock sat down with a cup of coffee, feeling sore in a few muscles, but John would never know that.

           “I wasn’t going to say anything” neither John nor Sherlock believed his words. John hid a smile with the mug. Sherlock was thankful for the silence. His mind was a mess, all he could think about was that he had to phone Lestrade, let him know Milly had identified the man. But the silence didn’t last long “Did you guys, at least, use protection?”

           Sherlock choked, to John’s happiness. For the first time, Sherlock felt himself blushing. For John’s amusement, Lestrade showed up, bursting through the door. Sherlock sighed.

           “Holmes! We had progress on Molly’s case. Is she…”

           Sherlock cut him off short, which made Lestrade almost chock.

           “Molly identified one of the suspects last night”

           “When were you planning to tell me?!” Lestrade took his coat off, resisting the temptation to throw it at Sherlock as he walked further into the apartment.

           “He was busy with her…” John spoke before Sherlock could. The detective was throwing daggers at John through his eyes “… if you know what I mean”

           “Really?” Lestrade didn’t seem at all surprised “About damn time, I’d say” John and Lestrade laughed, as if they knew something Sherlock didn’t.

           The detective made his way to where he had hidden the subject’s pictures the previous night. Finding the right one, he handed it to Lestrade.

           “She said no one moved to her street. We should check the whole block, though I think it’d be unlikely for us to find him there”

           “Why’s that?”

           “Because he’s not in a rush. He did it so he could understand her surroundings, to know who had her back. If he was, he would’ve done a lot more than just scare her, on the morgue”

           “What do you suggest we do?”

           “Keep an eye on the street neither way. He’s gotta move, sooner or later. Let’s keep an eye on Molly too, she can never, never be alone” Sherlock wanted nothing more than him to leave. Molly could wake up at any moment.

           “But she’ll stay here with you, right?”

           “Of course not! If this man finds out she’s here, he’ll stop and come back when we’re not expecting. I don’t like the idea of leaving her alone there, but it could be our only chance of finding him”

           “We’ll send out a warning on him, make sure the morgue knows who he is and what he intends. We’ll install new cameras around her house and front door, just to make sure”

           “Can you do it all until tomorrow? And find Molly a good alibi?”

           “Alibi?”

           “She wasn’t here, remember?”

           Lestrade and John knew Sherlock was right. So did Molly. None of the men in the kitchen suspected that she had been listening, behind the door, quietly. When Molly heard Lestrade and John leaving, she walked in, too scared to feel embarrassed about the previous night.

           Sherlock knew, but the look in his lover’s eyes, that she had heard everything. And the first thing they did was share a hug. One that seemed to last hours.

           “Should I go tonight?” Molly asked, scared to death to be left alone, even though they were talking about her own flat.

           Sherlock was not good with words. Had never been. Neither had he known what to say or do. It was not like Molly needed any of those. The fact Sherlock was there, trying to find out what was after her, gave her some peace of mind.

           She was blind with belief. Molly trusted Sherlock ever since they met, she had faith in him. Such faith couldn’t fail her now.

           Molly wanted so desperately to find a way out, to go back to her silly, little, stupid life… it was taking her breath away. Sherlock tried his best to keep her mind at ease, but found himself unable to. It was harder, way harder than he ever thought it would be.

           So, for her own good, Sherlock made her eat some breakfast before he had an actual answer. It was nearly lunch when he found it. They were sitting on the couch, Molly’s head was down. Sherlock had a plan and, even though she blindly trusted him, the past event had made her unsure of many, many things.

           “There’s no guarantee that this is going to work, Molly” Sherlock said, taking her hair away from her eyes “Lestrade and I came up with a plan, we’ll take care of everything. We’ll find him, but it can take days, maybe months”

           That was not reassuring. At All. But Molly sucked it up and nodded. Sherlock made some tea, as he carefully watched Molly pick a book from the many shelves and sit down on his granny’s chair to read. With her legs crumpled up under her, Molly seemed at peace, for the first time since all that shit had started to happen.

           Sherlock relaxed himself, writing some notes about some stupid cases on his website. As long as Molly was there, his mind would calm down. Or, at least, as calm as it possibly could. It was almost six P.M. when Lestrade came rushing in.

           When he knocked on the door, Sherlock already knew it was him, always in a rush. He got pissed as Mrs. Hudson took her time, offering him coffee, then tea, cookies. Lestrade was just too polite to just walk past her.

           “Sherlock, we have a problem!” he came in through the door, breathless “A huge one”

           “Did you get the cameras installed?”

           “I did, but that’s not what I’m talking about” Lestrade tried to oxygenate his brain.

           “Then, what is?” Molly put the book aside, ushering Lestrade to sit on the couch.

           “John is gone” Sherlock finally let go of his pen, turning fully to Lestrade, the detective within him coming back to life.

           “What do you mean?”

           “Gone! He just vanished from the face of the Earth!”

           “That’s not possible. He was with you the whole time, right?”

           “We split up at Barth’s. I went back to check on the cameras at your apartment, we were supposed to meet here at Baker Street but he never arrived. He’s not answering his mobile, either. I asked for the PD to try and locate him, but he’s nowhere to be found. He just… disappeared”

 


	9. Chapter Nine

So, change of plans.

           Sherlock and Molly held hands all the way to where John had last been seen. It felt awkward to realize such fact. John, his partner in crime, was missing. And now he was investigating this.

           Molly knew John had disappeared because of her, no one had to say it aloud. Though Sherlock was deep in thought, he tried to erase the stupid theories his messed up brain was coming up with. Lestrade was driving, and when they turned the last corner, the police lights were reflecting on the dark asphalt.

           Sherlock thought about asking Molly to stay in the car, but, before he could say anything, Molly was already opening the door and exiting. The scene was clear. Once again, the kidnapper had left behind nothing Sherlock could work with. It was driving him mad. First Molly, now John. Who else could he want?!

           There weren’t many possibilities. Sherlock had always thought that this man, Oliver Cramp, wanted nothing and no one but Molly. Now John was missing and Sherlock had no intention, whatsoever, to believe it hadn’t been Oliver Cramp.

           Back to the car, it was only then that Sherlock realized Molly had been crying. Again, he didn’t quite know what to say. But, now, he knew what to do. With both his arms around Molly, he didn’t try to make her stop, he just held her as they made their way to her apartment. Things had changed, it was clear.

           “It’s my fault”

           “No, it’s not” Sherlock answered immediately.

           “If he had me, John would still be here”

           “Don’t ever think you worth less than John, Molly” the car came to a stop, but neither of them moved “If it was you in his place, I would be looking for you just the same”

           Molly made no reply. Sherlock held out his hand for her to take, as he told Lestrade to stay behind.

           In five minutes, Molly was opening the door to her flat. It was the first time Sherlock had ever stepped foot there. It was pretty much what he had thought it would be like. Exactly like Molly, he observed. The walls in white, picture frames in the most various colors, not a single thing out of place. It was small, but cozy.

           In the living room, Sherlock smiled at seeing many case files by the dinner table. In the kitchen, some dirty laundry. Molly quickly moved to throw them aside, out of sight.

           “Lestrade and his men made quite the mess to install those cameras”

           “Where are they?”

           “Book shelves, by some doors, kitchen, living room…”

           “None in your room?”

           “By the window…”

           Sherlock closed the distance between them. It had been the first time they had some alone time together, ever since Lestrade walked in on them. Sherlock was still new at this, but he felt confident.

           Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Molly was all he had ever wanted. No one would put her life in danger and get away with it. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.

           “There will be an officer watching you all the time, even if you’re not here. You can call me any time, I’ll pick up” Molly nodded, allowing Sherlock to touch her face with his light fingers. Their foreheads touched and Sherlock saw Molly closing her eyes, trying to relax “We’ll find John and this man, everything is going to be alright”

           Molly closed the distance between their lips. Sherlock instantly looked for more of that touch, allowing Molly to pour herself into him. She didn’t believe things were going to be okay, but she believed in Sherlock. And that would have to be enough.

           As for Sherlock, when he walked out and heard Molly locking herself in, his eyes drifted back to the white-painted wood of her apartment door. He felt himself hesitating. He had just told her they would have to be discreet about their relation, and now, he felt like climbing into bed with her, until she fell asleep.

           Of course he didn’t walk back. He had to resist so he could find this man and end this, once and for all. So he left, but his heart stayed.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

Well, it hadn’t been enough. At least, that’s how Molly felt that other morning. Oh Lord, how she had wished Sherlock had stayed. For the following day, Molly had tried to focus on her work. It wasn’t the same, just being in the morgue made her sick to her stomach.

           It felt as if though every person who walked in knew what was going on. Their eyes were low, but Molly told herself many times that there was no way they could know further than the attack.

           Around midday, Sherlock called. Molly smiled at the screen, just seeing his name popping there. Though his voice was a little stiff and his words too rehearsed, Molly was thankful he had been trying. To have the chance to hear his voice made her day better in a second.

           “How are you?” he asked her.

           “I’m fine. I finished my work already, just waiting for a new case to come” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it “What about you?”

           “Pretty much the same like yesterday” Molly could tell Sherlock had his phone against his shoulder, typing as she could hear the sound of his long fingers moving quickly “Even though we’re looking for John, I’m pretty sure Oliver Cramp is still after you…”

           And then Sherlock got lost in his explanation. Most of those things he probably knew she didn’t want to hear, but he couldn’t control his tongue now that he had started. Molly didn’t stop him, though. This was the only way she could ever be conscious of the things going down around her, so she gave him her attention.

           “… the only explanation I found was that this is some kind of trap. There is no other reason for him to have taken John, not you. John doesn’t fit his taste, so all I have to go on with is that maybe he’s playing with us” Sherlock sighed “… he wants to see if I’m smart enough to follow his thoughts…”

           “Sherlock…” Molly’s voice came out like a whisper, but it was enough to silence him “… if there is a person who can find this man, that person is you, I’m sure of it”

           Sherlock had never been good with words. And, this time, when his relationship with Molly was just getting started, he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her with ushered, mispronounced sentences.

           Sherlock had tried to make Molly understand it hadn’t been her fault, but it didn’t make her feel better. Molly also knew Sherlock was probably busy, but he talked to her on the phone for a good forty minutes. Little did Molly know it hadn’t been hard at all to just ignore the time passing and just talking on the phone with her, Sherlock was learning to appreciate that.

           “I gotta go, Molly”

           Molly wanted to ask if she was going to see him that day, but decided against it. She was lost and thought it would be best to wait for Sherlock to tell her what to do.

           Sherlock didn’t call the next day. The hours dragged by as Molly stared at the watch. All this shit was going to be the death of her, Molly was sure. Twenty four hours passed since the last call and now Molly was getting ready to leave, hop in a cab and go home. Molly had her phone in her hands, just in case, you know?

           But that didn’t help much, she found. When she got in the cab and told the cabbie where to go, she looked back to find the car of her security guard following them from not too far behind.

           Molly’s flat wasn’t really far from Bath’s, so the ride was short. But the cabbie didn’t turn left where he was supposed to, he remained heading straight ahead. Molly tapped his shoulder, with only the kindest of intentions when she opened her mouth to tell him he had missed his exit.

           “Sir, I think you…” Molly stopped, the sound of her voice getting stuck in her throat. She couldn’t believe it. A deep gasp escaped her lips as her back went stiff. Holy fuck, no!

           “Good night, Miss Hooper”

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Sherlock called Molly four times when he knew she had already left the morgue. Sherlock wanted to make sure she had arrived safely to her flat. It was a very strong feeling, this one inside his chest, warm even.

And when she didn’t pick up on those four tries, Sherlock lost it. He called five, six, seven times. Still nothing. Sherlock did the only reasonable thing: He called Lestrade, who was there in no less than ten minutes.

“Are you sure you’re calling the right number?”

“Of course I am, damn it! I checked a thousand times already!” Lestrade knew Sherlock didn’t mean to yell. Lestrade knew what it felt like to be so worried, so he didn’t try to push it any further.

In less than fifteen minutes, Sherlock and Lestrade were on their way to Molly’s flat. Sherlock vowed he wouldn’t be mad if he found her to be only in the shower and unable to pick up, or that maybe she had fallen asleep.

He’d kiss her good-night and allow her to rest. But that was not what they found. Sherlock moved the mat by her door and quickly put the key in place. When he pushed the door open, his mind went blank. Sherlock vaguely heard Lestrade taking his gun for the holster, unlocking it.

The apartment was a mess. Which it never is. There were broken plates by the kitchen floor, all her files were destroyed, paper everywhere you looked at. Paintings falling apart, clothes of hers all over her bed.

It was clear someone had gone through her things. Lestrade went to look through the other rooms, but it only took Sherlock one look for him to know they wouldn’t find anything.

Sherlock could only say for sure that Molly hadn’t been harmed.

“How can you tell? This place is a mess. It would take my team almost a day to figure that out”

“Look around, Lestrade, there’s no blood! Even you can tell that there are no signs of struggle” Lestrade felt, today more than ever, incredibly stupid close to Sherlock “Where are her things? Her purse, her shoes?”

Sherlock walked around a little, pointing down towards the floor.

“Here, Molly takes her shoes off before anything else when she arrives from work” Lestrade moved to take a better look “I see the shoes from Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday”

“No Thursday…” Lestrade was starting to understand what Sherlock meant.

“By the countertop, here’s where she charges her phone every night, judging by the display of the other things near the plug” Sherlock pointed to the charger, which was still perfectly folded, where it belonged “Molly hasn’t stepped foot in her apartment since she left, this morning”

“So, Barth’s it is”

* * *

 

Sherlock and Lestrade were, actually, at the police headquarters. After a frustrated trip to Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital, the security guard letting them know Molly had taken a cab, they headed back to try and track her phone.

While waiting for something useful, Sherlock sat, constantly humming some ‘ode’ he could remember. His brain was a train, speeding out of control. When Lestrade walked in, Sherlock asked for silence for a few more minutes.

“If Molly hadn’t been to her flat today, she’s not at work and she’s not answering her phone, I fear she’s in more trouble than I thought”

“What do you mean?”

“John went missing…” Sherlock looked at the clock “... thirty one hours ago, Lestrade. It gives Oliver Cramp enough time to come up with a plan to go after Molly again, knowing he had found a way to keep us busy”

Lestrade moved his mouth to speak, but Sherlock didn’t care much for it.

“This man is smarter than I thought him to be, we all underestimated him” Sherlock took his coat off, rolling up his sleeves “He must be playing with me, some twisted game…”

Sherlock looked out the window, knowing that Molly was probably being reunited with John once more. He just hoped to get to her before Oliver Cramp did something he’d regret.  

“What type of game?”

“Molly and John have nothing in common, Lestrade, but the fact that they both know me” Sherlock turned around “I still hold on to the thought that John’s kidnapping was nothing but some sort of distraction, to get to Molly, I still believe she’s the center of all this”

“So, what do we do now? We weren’t able to track her phone signal”

“It doesn’t surprise me at all, actually. Oliver Cramp is smart, Lestrade, keep that in mind” Sherlock already knew what would come “He’ll come to us, soon”

“So, you’re saying we wait, now?” Lestrade couldn’t believe the words coming from Sherlock’s lips. The consulting detective sighed, tired of explaining his thoughts to people who were close minded.

“Now we wait” Sherlock said, with that same strong, warm feeling inside his chest. But now, it was fear. He feared he could lose Molly, so soon after they finally got things right.

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Molly shivered as she was told to sit on a chair. The room around felt cold to the bone, her clothes had been changed. She had no idea where that place was located, because she had lost track of everything, including time itself. Molly couldn’t tell if it was already morning or not, it it still was the same day of the month.

She knew Sherlock was probably going crazy and she wished she could do anything but stand there. Her limbs froze with every little sound around her space, her brain moving so fast her body couldn’t move.

Molly kept her eyes shut, thinking of the good things about her life.

Sherlock was drinking his fourth cup of coffee by the time that phone call got to him. Lestrade and some of the men from his team were in the room too. Sherlock waited until they were ready to track the call, every ring like a punch in his face.

“Go on” Sherlock picked up, putting the phone against his ear. He didn’t say anything though.

“You have quite the girlfriend, Detective Holmes” Sherlock sighed. So this was the man that held Molly and John’s lives in both his hands. It took everything inside Sherlock for him not to start cursing the man with every dirty word he knew.

“Where is she? Where’s John?” No answer came to whatever question he asked.

“Hush now, lover boy” Sherlock heard as the man stood, he could hear the steps echoing, wherever he was. Sherlock closed his other ear so he could pay full attention. Lestrade knew what he was doing, telling everyone to stop breathing, if they could, he even closed the door “They are both alive and well, so you’ll…”

“Prove it, then” Sherlock needed time and the officers seemed to be taking their time with tracing the call “Lemme talk to both of them".

“I’ll send a picture.”

“No, I want to hear their voices!”

“I don’t think you got things right, Mr. Holmes” Oliver whispered “You’re not the one who decides things here. Molly and John are alive, that’s all you need to know”

“Fine, what do you want in exchange for them?”

“I want you to find me, Mr. Holmes”

The call was then over. Even Sherlock looked stunned when he put the phone down. Lestrade was then rushing his officers out of the room and into their cars to go wherever it was they had to. But Sherlock didn’t move. He would have to believe that Molly and John are well, but Oliver’s last words made no sense.

“Sherlock, come. We know where they are!”

“Oliver, he…”

“What about him?” Lestrade couldn’t seem to understand why Sherlock was acting like this, the reason was still alien to him.

“He said the only thing he wanted was to be found”

“Well, let’s give him that, then”

Lestrade and Sherlock had nothing else to say. The idea of finally seeing both Molly and John was what helped him stand from the chair.

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Sherlock felt quite different when he walked into the warehouse the call had been traced back to. He waited until Lestrade told him it was okay to go in, a wait that almost killed him. His hands were shaking frantically, forcing him to hide them in his pockets.

Inside the great, forgotten building, the cops went looking for Oliver. Sherlock found John first. He knelt, looking for any signs that he had been seriously injured. John was handcuffed, left in a corner with a deep gash above his eye. John was awake, recognizing Sherlock right away.

“Sherlock…”

“You asshole, John! How could you let yourself be kidnapped?!”

“We’ll talk later, okay? I’ll explain everything, but first you need to find Molly, she wasn’t okay, she...” that made Sherlock’s back go stiff.

“What do you mean?”

“She was bleeding and totally out of herself” John spoke, while an officer and Sherlock himself helped him up “She was pretty bad, Sherlock, go”

John didn’t have to say it again. Sherlock took the stairs to the next floors, following the cops. The detective heard things about ‘finding the girl’, but that she refused help. Sherlock could only respond by walking faster towards her.

And that was when he saw Molly: sitting against the wall, away from everyone, refusing to be touched. Just like that night at the morgue. Sherlock was the only one she allowed in.

“Hi” Sherlock whispered, taking his coat out. Molly’s clothes were wet, but he didn’t try to touch her. Not yet, she still hadn’t moved to look at him “Molly? It’s me, Sherlock”

The room went silent, but Sherlock didn’t care much for it. His mind let go of everything else, Molly was the only person that mattered now. Molly looked up through her tears, finding Sherlock’s pale face. Molly could have swore Sherlock looked like crap, but to her, at that moment, he had never looked so good.

Sherlock wasn’t breathing properly by the time Molly accepted the hand he held out for her. With that hand Sherlock pulled Molly towards his own body, making her gasp as he held her in a tight embrace. Molly hid herself against him, allowing Sherlock to carry her out of there.

And that was what he did. Molly’s clothes were wet, her body was shaking. Molly was cold, even when they were in the car and there was a blanket around her body, just as she secure in Sherlock’s arms.

Her face was in his neck and every time Molly would breath out, Sherlock would close his eyes, finding that the feeling of having her safe and so close was one of the best things he had experienced. Better even than when he was an addicted.

“Sherlock…” Molly whispered, moving a little. She felt so comfortable now with him that she could easily drift to sleep, but she fought it neither way.

“Yeah?” He moved to allow her to sit, his arms still holding the blanket tight.

“Will you stay with me? Tonight?” Sherlock allowed himself to smile, taking the wet hair away from her eyes.

“Tonight, tomorrow night, in the day after tomorrow” Molly laughed, hiding again as Sherlock kissed her cheek “I’m here”

Oliver Cramp was still on the loose, but Sherlock’s only worry was Molly. Once in her flat, Sherlock was quick to undress them both and get in the shower with her. It would have been odd around a week back, but now, with both under the warm water, it felt right.

“You okay?” Sherlock said, once Molly was covered by a robe, like himself. She had been quiet and that silence was killing Sherlock, his chest was heavy “Hungry, maybe? I can order whatever you like”

Molly smiled and with only a nod from her Sherlock knew she wasn’t hungry. Well, not hungry for food actually.

After all that happened, after being apart and not knowing if she had been hurt or not, Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh as Molly tugged at his robe. Sherlock took a step closer, and Molly then undid the knot that held it closed.

But before she could do anything else, he pushed her towards the bed, his thighs holding hers in place. Sherlock came to find, ever since… well, their first time… that sex was pretty easy when you are comfortable, it was pretty basic.

Sherlock thought he wasn’t this type of guy, but for Molly he would be. Because the only alternative was to be without her. And that was not an option. So, he’d learn to love. He’d learn to cook, to divide his time between Molly and his work.

And Sherlock could already see John’s next post on that stupid blog.

_“A Case of Love: The day Sherlock Holmes fell for the lady in distress!”_

_Fell_ for the lady?

_Wait, what?!_

The End.

 


End file.
